


Addition Only Gives The Allusion Of Control

by Leopyropirate



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Cardassia, Cardassian voles - Freeform, Cardassians, Character Study, Control, Control Issues, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Episode: s01e03 Past Prologue, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Gen, Harm to Animals, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kanar, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsidian Order, Past Prologue, Torture, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopyropirate/pseuds/Leopyropirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is centred around Elim Garak and his addition to his 'Wire' implant. There will be some garak/bashir in later chapters. Effects of the 'Wire' are based on my personal experiences of opiates<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May I introduce myself?

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place just prior to s1e2 'Past Prolog'

Comfortable. Just so comfortable. He was warm at last and the brightness of the lights no longer mattered. Nothing did. Could be better though, he thought, so turned the dial up. It only took a few seconds for the wave to hit him. He turned it again. Every sensation became better, sharper. The carpet beneath his bare feet was now soft, the heavy, scratchy fabric of his clothes was now pleasant. He ran his fingers through his hair, it was so smooth, so delicate. Even breathing was now a pleasure. But his mouth was dry. 

He got up, walked over to the replicator and requested a glass of water. He waved his hands through the air, it was almost as if he could feel the atmospheric molecules part as he moved. He wasn't sure whether his movements would appear graceful or ungainly, they felt both controlled and out of control. In fact, that was an accurate description of how he felt entirely. He had never turned his 'Wire' up so high before; he had never been so high before. The water felt silken within his mouth. He had no idea that such simple things could bring such contentment. Part of him was disgusted in himself for getting into his current state but most of him was just enjoying the ride. He had not felt so relaxed in a long time, he was bordering on aroused. 

The computer announced it was 0850 hours, time to head to his shop. Socks and shoes on and controller in his pocket, he prepared to leave his quarters. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror - he looked his normal, well groomed self, though his pupils were but pinpoints, he wondered how it was even possible to see through such tiny pupils? 

He walked to corridors of the station with a smile. He was not oblivious to the stares, sideways glances, muttered comments or the one incident of projectile oral secretions that accompanied him to his shop, he just didn't care today. He was untouchable, impenetrable. He spent some time admiring the materials he had, their textures, patterns, weights, etc were all so much more interesting now. At some point during the morning he turned the dial on his control up to maximum. He tried to cut out a pattern in a pale yellow fabric but failed several attempts to cut straight so abandoned it. He turned instead to what he thought of as his other business venture.  
"Computer, show me personal files of all senior staff on Deep Space Nine"  
"Authorisation required" 

Hacking into the files turned out to be a much simpler task in his intoxicated state than cutting the cloth had been. Old habits die hard, he supposed. In order to stay on the station, he planned to show Starfleet and the Bajoran officials that he meant the no harm, even gain their endearment through telling them tall tales of personal hardship and misfortune and claiming asylum if he must. But he would much prefer to gain their respect rather than pity. If he was respected, it would be easy for him to become part of the society of the station, privy to all sorts of information. If could get enough intelligence on Starfleet he may, one day, prove himself to still be useful enough to gain back Tain's favour. He could but hope. He needed an angle, he was to start with befriending someone. 

He didn't bother to look at the Commanders file, heading straight for the top would never look sincere. The second in command was a Bajoran Major - a former resistance fighter no less- there was no point in going there either. The Science Officer, Jadzia Dax was a joined trill. Joined trill were notoriously difficult to manipulate. The Chief Engineer appeared to be a family man, that could be useful, but he had once been a soldier fighting against the Cardassians. Perhaps not then. There didn't see to be much information the Chief of Security at all, which was very interesting, he was not Starfleet and had been on the station a few years. Although not Starfleet himself, there was potential there. Then there was the Chief Medical Officer. 

'Aha!' He thought. The Doctor was human and young, straight out of medical school in fact. This was his first Starfleet commission, he did not appear to have spent much time off Earth and, judging by the picture, was very attractive. Garak smiled to himself, he may have hit the jackpot in more ways than one. 

"Computer, locate Doctor Julian Bashir"  
"Doctor Bashir is in the replimat."

Excellent, he smiled. It was time to make his presence known.


	2. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make a collection of short stories/moments centring around Elim Garak prior to 'The Wire'. There might be some garak/bashir in later chapters. Effects of the 'Wire' are based on my personal experiences of opiates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one afternoon when i wasn't feeling well, I'm rather pleased with it :)

Garak stood at his replicator, took the newly-formed glass of kanar into his hand and brought it up to his lips. He drummed his fingers on the glass then downed it's contents. The more he tried to ignore it, the more anxiety welled up inside him. He stood still, with his eyes closed, desperately trying to keep his composure. He let out a frustrated growl. 

"Fuck it"

He slammed the glass back into the replicator, marched over to his desk, wrenched the draw out, fished out the device, turned the dial and-  
\- relaxed. A low, slow sigh escaped his lips as he sunk down into his chair. His breathing slowed, his pupils contracted and he began to ride the wave. He sat still, peacefully disconnected from the world, when he noticed a scraping, scratching sound emanating from somewhere beyond the walls.

Silently, he left his quarters. Within a meter from his door was a hatch to, what the Federation called, a Jefferies tube. There was no way he planned to getting into such a small space, even in his inebriated state, but he didn't think he would need to. Sure enough, as he removed the panel he could see several Cardassian voles scurrying away from him. He picked one up, wrung it's neck and threw it to the ground. One remained in the tube, staring up at him. He grabbed it, one hand encircling it's chest, the other sliding underneath it, capturing a couple of it's six legs. Garak brought the creature up to his chest and returned to his quarters. He hadn't bothered to put the panel back, Chief O'Brien along with many others were awhere of the stationcs infestation,, perhaps they would see the open hatch and go looking for any the other nearby voles. 

The Cardassian vole was an ugly creature, as they all were. The spoon shaped ridge was common in many animals on Cardassia, displaying that perhaps they all had a shared ancestor. Garak brought the vole's head up to his and glared into it's black eyes, he could feel it breathing and its tiny heart beating rapidly within its chest. The closest he had to home was this vile animal, squirming in his hands. He dropped it onto his desk and it let out a squeal. He gave it a moment to scrabble to its feet before pinning to the table, turning it over and skilfully snapping one of its legs.

Tears clung to the corners of Garak's eyes. Damn the wire, he thought. With his wire on, his emotions sometimes surfaced quicker than he could bury them, often surprising him. And this reminder of Cardassia brought anger, regret and loneliness out. Still, he thought, whist gripping another of the vole's legs, sliding his fingers up and down, determining what was bone and what was tendon or muscle, he could get some pleasure from the creature. 

As a child, Garak would never have though he would one day be renowned for his skill at torturing others, even less that he would enjoy it. There was no greater feeling of power, of control. It was the longing for control along with his sense of curiosity that had made him so good at that aspect of his job. Control - he had very little control over his life, he had been nothing but Tain's disappointing puppet, and curiosity - what reaction would he get if said this, emphasised that, applied pressure there, cut here, broke that bone? It may only have been a vole beneath him but he still relished the power he felt from causing it pain.

It wasn't until it had drawn it's last breath that he took a step back. He went over to his replicator, ordered another glass of kanar and downed it before turning back to face reality. The desk was a mess of blood and gore. He looked at himself in the mirror, his face was flushed and glistened with sweat, his eyes wild but his pupils pinpoint, his hair was untidy and blood covered his hands and sleeves - both the vole's and his own where it had bitten and scratched at him. His heart sank as he took in his somewhat ghastly appearance. He had thought of the vole as a pathetic creature but he realised that this was not true, the only pathetic creature in his quarters that night was him. With a growing sense of sadness, powerlessness and isolation, he left the room in its state and took himself to bed.


	3. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just after 'The Wire' after Garak and Bashir had had lunch together.

Garak had planned to only start to head in the direction of his quarters, to appease the Doctor but ended up completing the journey out of habit. 

His heart became heavy with anxiety as he approached and he found himself consciously trying regulate his breathing. He knew why. 

He attempted to sit quietly and listen to music; he found himself stroking the fur trim of his tunic, replicated of course as both the Federation and Bajorans were against the use of animal products. He flicked his nose with his finger, twice. Again. Then again. He stood and began to pace. 

He didn't want to do this. He told himself he wanted to fight the anxiety. Only a few days ago had he said he never wanted the implant turned on again and he had tried to mean it. Yet even as he said it, he felt an overwhelming sense of inevitability.  
Over to the cupboard he went, unthinking, opened the doors, picked up the implant switch and-  
'fuck'

He had not finished it. He had planned to build a back-up switch but after he had turned the implant on full time this didn't seem so important and he had clearly never gotten around to completing it.   
'fuck'

He needed a distraction, something, anything, to take his mind away from the fact that his coping mechanism had been stripped from him but his pathetic life had not changed. 

He opened a draw in his desk and took out a gold and blue paper-covered box. He tore at it and devoured each of the chocolates contained within it in haste, barely even tasting them, just hoping to stuff his anxiety down inside himself along with them. 

Work, he thought next, would help. He left his quarters and walked quickly to his shop, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He didn't open up but rather spent time sitting behind the counter cutting and arranging a pattern he had been working on. For a while this helped until he became aware of the silence and monotony of his task. He began to feel like he was drowning in it. 

Kanar then. He had always kept a bottle of brown kanar under his work station, just in case. Brown was was not as viscous as black nor quite as strong but stronger than blue and orange. He gulped the first glass then sipped slowly through the rest of the bottle.

He had offered the good Doctor a sample of this type of kanar before - his responce had been to liken it to an earth drink called sherry but 'stronger, botanical and a bit, well, gross' were his exact words. Warmth spread through Garak's body and lust replaced anxiety's grip on his heart as he thought about how Julien had looked down at him on that bio bed. Now that would be a good distraction and one he had been thinking about for months. It was an easy task to look up when his shift ended. 

****

Julien had barely made it into his quarters when the door chime rang. 

'Enter' he said whilst he turned back towards the door, not bothering to question who it was. 

Garak had biuld up courage and momentum on his walk from the promenade. He headed straight for the Doctor, grabbed both his shoulders, thrust him against the nearest wall and planted his lips and tongue around and inside his protesting mouth. 

'Garak! Garak... What are you doing?' The doctor managed to get out inbetween the barrage of kisses.  
'What does it look like I'm doing'  
'I know this is what you've wanted since you first introduced yourself but-'

Garak recoiled at those words as it dawned on him that he had been forcing himself upon the younger man and looked to the floor.

Julien too was unsure what to do next. When they had first met he had been excited by the interest of this handsome alien, intimidated, flattered and paranoid that he was going to be used for federation secrets. They had formed a friendship, in Julien's mind at least, each delighting in the other's academic and literature knowledge. They had got closer - a touch of hands here, a pressing of legs there. They had been heading towards this with both of them wanting it.

Then the last fortnight had happened. Julien still wanted the tailor but did he want the Obsidian Order agent, drug addict underneath? 

'Garak' The doctor's voice was slow and heavy with empathy. 'You reak of kanar' 

They both smiled sadly at each other for a moment, then the Doctor offered his hand to the cardassian.

'Why don't we both have a lie down?' 

Garak allowed himself to be lead into the doctor's bedroom. They both only removed their jackets before laying down, the doctor tucking himself behind the shorter man, hugging him with one arm.

'Thank you Julien'   
'Thank you too, Elim' 

There was something in his life still worth living for, Garak thought, and he drifted into sleep.


End file.
